I Need No Heaven
by BryndisBeeSting
Summary: Takes place after this first season of AHS, according to me. Tate has crossed over, and Violet finds herself alone in a house that wants her dead. But is he truly gone? "You are my second life. You are my reset button." Rated M for safety.
1. Passing Over

Dreaming up realities that never existed, lying to yourself, and convincing the people around you that you can INDEED ignore the problem is the Harmon family way. How easy one can do that when you are the maker of your own tragedy. How distant everything becomes, how silent and faded. It becomes an old photograph, trapped in the walls of your mind never to be recovered. Violet was not exempt from such tendencies. As much as she wished that she'd been genetically different from her parents, she wasn't. Not truly. Though she didn't inherit her mother's strawberry blonde locks, Violet was gifted her fiery defiance and hot temper. Even though she hadn't been blessed with her father's icy blue eyes, she had been given his weakness of flesh, his selfishness, and self destructive thoughts. What goodness did she inherit? Where in her veins, pumping with her blood, are the virtues she used to be so sure her parents possessed? From the quietness of her room, in the dark corners, the response is silence. She has her answer. So she remains trapped away in her room, her own private hell of moral-decay and disintegration. But if she waits long enough, he will always come along to save her.

'Tonight is the night I finally do it' is what she always thinks to herself when she locks the door to her room and turns off the light. She crawls languidly onto the bed and lights up her Marlboro cigarette while staring at her wrists and she knows he's watching her. She feels him. She wonders if ghosts can transmit thoughts, and she wonders if Tate will receive hers once she's dead. Violet gives the darkness a sad smile as she puts out her cigarette on her bedpost and throws the butt under the bed. She begins to undress until she's just in her lilac panties, and she whispers his name. She lies back down against her pillow and takes the blade from her nightstand drawer. She traces the tip up and down her arms, and shuts her eyes to the world. She feels the coldness of the metal, the temptation to just sink it into her snow white skin and end it all, and be with him finally. Then she feels him, first as soft as butterfly kisses against her nose. Then the sensation becomes stronger, more concrete. She feels a tug at her panty-line, strong lips against her own, and hands on her hip. She feels the curls of hair on the sides of her face and the weight of his body against hers. She can feel fingers curl around her hands, feel him him open her fist, and hears the blade fall next to her bed. Yes, he's here. And she feels like repeating it over and over again, he's here, he's here! For the first time in weeks her heart is beating as if it's actually beating and it's glorious and real, just like he is. Her eyes open and as quickly as they do he's gone.

After the awful occurrences that took place in their LA home between August and December of 2012, the Harmons collapsed in on themselves in a rather bittersweet climax. The twins were born 2 months premature, while Vivien was still committed. They had been born away from the house, and so their birth was not tainted by the evil they were so destined to bring. As soon as the babies were born, Vivien was released back into a world full of death and decay, with a rosebud-cheeked infant in each arm. She proceeded to leave from the institution and rented a minivan. She began driving east, and didn't come back. These babies came from sadness, pain, and fear. But Vivien would be damned if they were raised in it too. Her purpose was simple; return to Boston, stay with her mother, and raise her family anew. She still loved Ben and Violet, of course. With all her heart, she loved them. However, the hurt that she felt when she had looked into her daughter's knowing eyes was too much for Viv. Violet was more like her father than she'd care to admit.

So it was established. Violet and Ben stayed in Murder House. They both had little left to live for, and every day the little energy they had left for life was diminishing. Ben often went out drinking, leaving Violet alone in the house to get better acquainted with its inhabitants. She knew them all. She was pretty sure. One ghost in particular was gone though. The love of her life, tragically cut short by his discovery of death. She often stayed up chain-smoking, researching poetry and birds just to feel close to him still. She tried anything to forget how she lost him.

* * *

><p><strong>One Month Prior<strong>

It was a quiet night in the house, Ben had gotten home shit-faced as per usual and Violet was falling asleep to the sound of The Smiths. Her mind was slowing down, to almost a total stop when she felt a presence in the room. Tate, her Tate. He had appeared at the foot of her bed, with a soft smile and those gleaming dark eyes of his, so warm and big. She smiled back and motioned lazily for him to crawl in bed with her. He nestled against her, spooning her delicate form in the vices of his arms. She felt safe here, she felt loved. She WAS loved. Here she would talk and talk about everything without feeling judged. She spoke about how she missed her mother, about how she's never met her brother and sister, about the contempt she held for her father. She confided in him her worries about ending up like them, her parents. Her biological fear only boosted by the recent events of the family schism.

Tate's response was always short, knowing that Violet just needed to vent. She didn't want advice, she wanted acceptance and belonging. He was more than willing to had made love, in the sweet, slow way they tended to make love as of late. Violet needed that tenderness, those sweet kisses on her neck and in between her legs. She craved those soft fingers over her breasts, his mouth on her mouth, those sweet languid thrusts that filled her up to the brim with longing. Afterwards they would stare at each other, beautiful face towards beautiful face, nothing left unclear in between them. This is what they wanted; each other. All they needed was there on the bed with the other.

Tate brushed Violet's blonde hair, and tucked it behind her ear. All she could see was love in his eyes. Yes, this is true beauty.

"I don't think I'd survive if you ever left, not now." she whispered

"Do you think I could, Vi? I wouldn't want to exist, I wouldn't be able to even think without you."

"I'm so scared. Everyday I feel less and less solid, like I might go disappear if I'm not careful, if I'm not grounded…"

She looked at him, beginning to shake. When did she become such a coward? She used to be so strong. This house leeched it off her, she knew.

"I will always keep you grounded. Whenever you feel like you're floating away, I'm going to catch you and pull you back down." He smiled as he spoke.

"I don't think I can love you more than I do now, Tate. It's almost too much. I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to feel this. Like, what right do I have to be this happy? I am so imperfect, so contaminated."

"What are you talking about, Vi?" Tate sat up and stared at her dark, conflicted eyes "I am the happiest person on the planet because of you. I need no heaven, I need you. How can you not deserve the love that is so freely given to you? You deserve this, just like I deserve you. That's what I've come to realize, Violet. You are more than just my saving grace. You are my second life. You are my reset button. I love you. I love you a million times over," he kissed her nose "and over" he kissed her neck "and over." and he kissed her lips. He pulled back and watched her face. The sweet movements and changes and loving stares.

She couldn't stand it, she cupped his face and brought his face to hers, and kissed him with all the force she felt. Their nude bodies intertwined once more, as they became one for the second time that night.

When she awoke in the morning, Tate was gone. Violet thought that was unusual, he always stayed until she stirred. Maybe something came up, she told herself. He never leaves without saying goodbye, not since Violet's breakable disposition surfaced. He'd been more than careful to keep her from feeling alone. Violet searched downstairs, the basement, the attic, running into several 'others' on the way but none of them being Tate. By midday, she began to feel on edge. Where was he? Why hasn't he appeared to her? She's been calling for him all morning. Her eyes watered and she became desperate. She was screaming his name up and down the halls of the evil home, the creaks of the floorboard sounded like taunting giggles.

"TATE! TATE, WHERE ARE YOU? TATE!"

"Shut the fuck up, girl, I can hardly hear myself think with you screaming out that little psycho's name and running around the house like some depraved rodent."

Violet turned around, eyes red and desperate. When she saw who it was, her heart sank and her fear resurfaced as anger.

"What the fuck do you want, Hayden? I suggest you get the fuck out of my way. Aren't you supposed to be trying to fuck my pathetic father or some bullshit like that? I'm busy and don't need your slutty ass keeping me."

"Oh dear, you don't know." Hayden smirked, her tone condescending and vile.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Nothing, only that your little boy blue has crossed over."

"Right, ok, shut the fuck up. Seriously, stop feeding me all this bullshit and beat it."

"I'm not lying, sweetheart. He crossed over. The house knows, I know, now you know too."

Violet felt a hand constricting itself around her heart. No, she has to be lying. 'She just wants to see you squirm' Violet thought to herself.

"Look, I'm tired, and I need to find Tate."

"Good luck with that one, honey, he's passed on." Hayden said, loudly now "His wish in life has been completed. He's been truly, deeply, madly loved…by you." Hayden's smirk got wider with every word "He had no reason left to stay, his second chance in love and life was fulfilled by you, his precious nightingale. You should have seen his face, he had no idea what was going on."

Violet stayed quiet. She couldn't find her voice to speak. She still didn't want to accept it, there was just no way. She couldn't. She ran past Hayden and down to the kitchen to find Moira. Violet saw her drying the dishes with a washcloth, her red curls neat and pinned, her clothes never dirtied.

"Moira, Hayden just told me Tate's passed on. Tell me it's not true, tell me he's just been entertained, or-or something. He's still here though, right? Moira?"

The older woman stopped drying the dishes, and looked up at Violet with sympathy, her milky eye shining with something that could have been more than just a trick of the light.

"Miss Harmon, I'm afraid the girl is correct. It happened early this morning. He's fulfilled what he was left here to do, the evil in him had been cleansed. I'm so sorry, Miss." Moira looked back down at the dishes and continued drying.

At these words, Violet felt a tremor in her soul. A violent shake took over her, and she didn't feel herself falling to the ground. She didn't realize when her knees met the floor, or when she folded in on herself and blacked out.

* * *

><p>So now here she is. Violet Harmon, the outline and fill-out of her parent's mistaken union. It's been over a month since Tate crossed over, but it's as if it happened an hour ago. Violet's in her room, where she always is. She misses him, oh, does she miss him. Her eyes are red-rimmed and tired. She is sketching a sparrow and a hummingbird when she hears her father stumbling up the stairs. She hears Moira telling him he needs to be more careful, to drink less. Violet laughs bitterly, as if he'd listen. She hears the door of his bedroom shut and she hears Moira walk back down the stairs, and soon hears those footsteps disappear as well. She's developed a fear of checking the clock. Something about realizing how fast the time passes makes her want to kill herself. Literally. How can she survive like this? She can't. She'd told him she couldn't.<p>

She stretches out on her bed, in just her shorts and black long-sleeved T-shirt. Her eyes are blurry form sleep-deprivation and they sting in the corners. She thinks about how he left her. How maybe, it was his choice. She doesn't know how those things worked, for all she knew that's what he did.

'But he had said he'd never leave…" she thought, eyes closing.

The only way to see him again, was in death.

* * *

><p>"Violet, I know you father has been preoccupied lately but that's no excuse to keep missing school. You still have a future outside of LA, you know. Maybe when you finally go away to college, no, IF you go to college, then you can move on with your life too."<p>

"Mom, I know this is hard for you to understand, but I don't want to move on. Ok? I don't want to go back to school, I don't want to go to college, I want to stay right here, with this house. Besides, I think never seeing you again or those two bastard children is more than enough reason to never go outside of LA."

There is a pause on the other end of the phone, and Violet begins to play with the rubber chord of the phone, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have said what she did.

"You know…I had to do what I had to do, Vi. The babies deserve better. I deserve better."

"And what about me? You strand me here with the adulterer of the century and then poof! There you go, off to Boston. I guess I deserve the worst, huh?"

"After the lies, and what you and your father put me through, I think the least I could do was move far away. You both made it clear to me where I am on your list of priorities."

Violet swallows, tears heavy on her eyes as she remembers what happened almost 6 month ago. Why she did it. For Tate, who left her too.

"Mom, I'm going to go now. Bye."

Violet clicks the phone down, realizing she hadn't even asked her mother the names of her brother and sister.

He watches her, softly fingering her strands of hair. She never notices when he's around. He comes often, to see her, to feel her. He likes to watch her undress, likes to watch her facial expressions when she touches herself. He hates how she cries when she comes, how the tears come hot down her cheeks. He wants her back, on the other side with him. But he'll have to wait. He can't let her die like he did, can't let her cause her own demise. He keeps watch every night, to make sure the blade never reaches to close to her vein, to make sure she's still blossoming with life. There is no heaven but her.

**To be continued.**

_A/N- First fanfic ever, for my favorite show ever :-) Ok, so I am totally open to good constructive criticism. Also, if you enjoy it let me know. This first chapter is a little slow and monotone because it's just the beginning and needs to establish some things, but other than that I hope you all enjoy!- Bryndis_


	2. Dead Lover's Touch

Chapter 2- Dead Lover's Touch.

Late summer in Los Angeles is as unbearable as baking yourself in an oven, and probably worse for your health. Violet could smell the toxic fumes radiating off the classic cars next to the street, nestling in her lungs and suffocating her slowly. She had lied to her father, told him she would indeed go to her last day of remedial summer classes. He obviously doesn't know her very well. She hasn't attended once. Her belief was, if she didn't go to regular classes during the school year, what made them think she would go to classes in the summer? Not in this weather, fuck that. She'd probably die before the professor even called roll. Violet continues walking under the shade of the garden trees creating a unilateral canopy over the sidewalk. She watches her feet move, one in front of the other, but she doesn't process it. She only does. For the past couple of weeks she's found herself thinking of other things besides Tate, but she could only do so for so long before something reminds her of him again.

Just that morning, Violet had woken up to the sound of birds outside her window. For the first time in over two months she didn't immediately think of him. For the first time in what felt like forever she just thought of how beautiful the sound was. That was all she thought. Then she remembered. Tate, tears in his eyes, golden hair around his face like a halo. His dark eyes watering with rejection, as he told her he loved her for the first time. He had expected her to dismiss him, to send him away. How could she ever? How could she ever send him away? Violet couldn't bring herself to move, and she stayed in bed until the birds went quiet and feeling returned to her limbs.

Now she was coming home from a walk to the park, knowing her father would be done with his patients soon, and free to go off for another night of drunken exploits. Violet really wished she could punch him in the face sometimes.

Violet arrives home through the kitchen and throws her empty backpack on the counter. Moira is mopping the floor, looking up at Violet as she rummages through the cabinets for a glass. Moira had been hired back by Dr. Harmon after Vivien went back to Boston. He wasn't fond of the red-head, he believed she had drugged him on several occasions. Before the family separated, he was sure he was seeing things on several occasions. Old ladies, demons, men in rubber suits. He was sure she had something to do with Moira. Ben found her frightening, even more volatile than Vivien ever was. The advances she'd made on him were almost too much to handle sometimes. However, he couldn't deny that a woman was necessary in the house, and she knew the house best. Since she's moved back, though, there have been no such problems. Ben was glad. He didn't like problems.

"Would the miss of the house like a glass of water?"

"It's alright, Moira, I got it." Violet said as she turned on the tap.

"Miss, may I make you an after school snack? Perhaps your favorite, some pizza?"

"Actually, I'm not hungry. I had a big lunch."

"You know, Miss Harmon, one of the leading causes of depression is a lack of good nutrition. Imagine how many vitamins you are depriving your body of. If you don't get a proper meal in you soon, I'm afraid you might wither away."

"Maybe that's what I want." Violet whispered, almost inaudibly.

Moira heard anyway, of course. She hears everything in the house, feels the vibrations of the movements through her bones in the backyard to the crevices in the attic. She walked over to Violet, her facial expression sad.

"Miss, I know this has to do with the Langdon boy."

Violet had no idea her eyes could water and roll at the same time, but they did. Her lower lip began to tremble and she slammed her cup down on the sink. She made a move to leave but Moira held on to her arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Violet, her voice thick with emotion.

"I'm trying to knock sense into you, miss Harmon. That boy was no good. You shouldn't be wasting yourself away, inviting death into you in the most passive way don't want to spend an eternity with someone like that, miss. You want someone alive, someone good, someone who hasn't tainted their soul with the act of killing. He won't come back, there is no way now."

"Listen, ok, I don't care!" Violet yelled, tears freely falling now "I love him, he loved me! We were going to be together forever, and I would have overlooked all of it because of what he's seen in me! You don't know Moira, you've never been in love and you never will be! But I was his second chance," she paused staring at Moira "I was his salvation, Moira. And now he's gone."

Moira let go of Violet. She looked at the young girl with pity, shaking her head.

"Miss Harmon, the devil deserves none."

A new string of sobs erupted from Violet's throat as she ran past the old woman and towards the stairs to her room. Moira continued staring at the spot where Violet had been. She too was troubled by the Langdon boy passing on, but for different reasons. How can he, a murder, rapist, and psychopath, move on to the afterlife? How can he have found love and went forward? When she, an overall good person, who was murdered and forced to clean other people's messes her whole life, was still stuck in this hell-hole. She shook her head, her mind was wandering to very dangerous territory once more since the boy left.

* * *

><p>Constance drinks her coffee sweet and dark. She sips it in her kitchen as she stares at her newly finished painting. It's the third one in the series, of demons and humans intermingling on a battlefield. She holds her cup tightly between her bony knuckles, smiling up at the piece. the background is a stark desert, with bodies laying in the distance in pools of blood. In the foreground, front and center, is a beast with 3 horns and snout of a pig. It's feasting on the entrails of a soldier who writhes in pain, eyes ablaze with anguish. He feels it all. Constance puts down her coffee and picks up her paintbrush, about to sign her name at the bottom when she suddenly feels a strange coldness.<p>

Constance turned to see if she had left a door or window open, allowing a summer night breeze to slip through. When she saw that everything was shut tight, she chalked it up to her ever-changing stress levels. Down and more down, it was the story of her life. Tate was gone now, the last of her family and she couldn't bare the thought, so she just didn't think about it. Although she was happy he'd finally passed on, Constance was hoping he'd stay at murder house, especially now that he'd found his soulmate in that little brat next door. She grimaced and took out a cigarette from her little purse. Her eyes darted back to the painting as she lit her Pal Mal, and went back to feeling more like an artist than the mother of a deceased.

Not much longer after she had shut the lights and gone to bed did Constance begin rummaging through her collection of stolen china and silverware, things she'd be able to sell. She was looking at a rather old porcelain figurine, smiling to herself.

"Oh darling, you will make me pretty penny." she whispers.

"I'd love nothing more than to ram that thing through your skull." says an angry voice behind her.

Constance screams and turns around, dropping the figurine to the floor. She looks at the doorway to her bedroom, but no ones is there. Her heart is pounding, and she grabs the knife she keeps next to her bed at all times. She walks to the door, peeks outside. No one.

"Come out you worthless son of a bitch! I will gut you like a pig on Christmas!" she threatens.

She feels her heart hammering against her chest, and she feels someone off to the side of her, out of her view but he's there. She doesn't do anything right away, sweating at her brow. It was only due time that she'd come face to face with an intruder. Finally, she gathers her courage and yells as she slashes the knife towards the burglar and-

Nothing.

Constance drops the knife, realizing maybe this was all in her head. Oh Jesus H. Christ, what was going on with her. She had to keep her nerves about her, she can't just go losing it like that. Not when she was finally free.

* * *

><p>Constance Langdon wasn't free though, for off in the darkness of the mirror room down the hall, a boy of 17 stared at her as she came undone. His blonde curls wild and eyes dark as oblivion. He feels his rage, as he stares on, unable to be seen. He hates this woman, has hated her since as far back as he can remember. How could she not be supportive with Violet, alone in that house with no one to talk to but a drunk father and a bunch of insane ghosts? Tate missed being seen. He missed being able to interact easier. It's so hard now, for some reason.<p>

He hates how Violet can't see him, how she can't really know he's there for longer than a couple of seconds. But he's there, he always will be there in time to save her. With that thought Tate went up like vapor and travelled next door, where the love his life (well, death) was probably getting ready for bed with the lights off. He can already hear her moaning his name, hearing her sighs of longing. He wanted to grab her, take her then and there each time. Waiting is awful, it's longer than Tate could have imagined. He couldn't let her suffer though. Not like that.

Tate goes in through her window like a mist, and sure enough Violet is curled up under her duvet with a book of poetry by Keats. He smiles at her, as he stands next to her, running his fingers up and down her thin arms. The little hairs stick up, and Violet closes her eyes, the sensation of such light pressure on her skin causing her goosebumps. Her breath catches in her throat, and she whispers his name.

"Tate…"

"Violet, I'm here."

But she doesn't hear him, she never does.

"Tate it's hell here without you," Violet begins, eyes closed and throat tight. "I can't do this, remember I told you that I wouldn't be able to if you were gone. There's nothing keeping me solid," she starts to cry.

"Vi, Vi, Vi…" he repeats his penitence for her over and over, to see if maybe somehow she could hear him. He wants to tell her everything. How his soul is finally cleansed of the evil, of the pain. He wants to tell her how he came back from the other side, desperate to be with her, but it's not the same. He's here, like before, just not exactly. But he can't say these things, she wouldn't hear. She never does.

"Oh Tate, why'd you do it?" Violet yells, sobbing into her pillow now as the ghostly hand of Tate begins to caress her shoulders, kissing in-between her earlobe and her jaw. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she's sure he's here now. She doesn't know how he does it but he does. He's here because she feels him, not solid but she does.

"Tate, oh Tate, stay please," she whispers into her pillow as she begins to take off her shirt.

Tate watches Violet's back as she continues to undress, until it's bare except for a couple of beauty marks along her rib cage. Tate feels desire, he doesn't know how but he does. Maybe it had something to do with rejecting a place in the other realm. He didn't know. He just knew he wanted to be solid, to make love to his beautiful Violet, and hold her close all night long, for every night for the rest of eternity.

When she was completely naked, Tate wrapped himself around her form on the bed. It's amazing how he can still feel her skin. It was so soft, as if she was made of silk. She was whispering now, little things of love. He whispers back.

"Vi, I'd give anything to be with you, again. Anything."

Violet fell asleep, wrapped in the icy coldness of her dead lover. When she awoke in the morning she was warm, and she knew he'd left a long time before she had awaken.

* * *

><p>"Constance, I really think you should place an alarm system in your home. A mature woman, alone in a house full of antiques? I wouldn't even think twice about it."<p>

"I know you're just trying to help, Billy, but I have other things to worry about. For Christ's sake, I've been doing nothing but losing my mind lately. The kennel needs attending to and ever since Travis died I've been so busy I've hardly had time to think about myself getting killed or not."

"You're a little ridiculous. You're telling me someone was in here last night, and you still won't do anything about it? You have finally hit the crazy wall. There's no going back now."

"Oh please, don't feed me that. I have things to do today that don't include having some minority come into my home and wire it up."

"Where do you think they came in from, anyway?" Billy took a sip of her coffee and lit her cigarette as Constance thought about it.

"I don't even really know. I just know I had checked and the doors were all locked. It was probably my mind playing tricks on me. What disturbs me most of all is…oh, never mind." Constance took out a cigarette as well and lit it.

"What disturbed you most?"

Constance hesitated, then sighed.

"The voice I heard…it sounded exactly like Tate."

Billy froze, but her eyes didn't give away her surprise.

"Didn't you say he passed on, dear?"

"Yes, he did. I'm certain. Which is why this is so silly."

Billy stared thoughtfully at her cigarette, then ashed it into her empty coffee cup. She wondered if she should bring this up to Constance. In fear that it might get the woman's hopes up too much. However, Billy had a job to do.

"You know, not all spirits who pass on choose to go on to the second realm."

Constance stared at the younger woman, mouth slightly open and eyes begging her to continue.

"It's very, very rare," Billy continued "He would have to have chosen to stay in this realm, in the form that he would have been in the second. That means his soul is pure, but his body isn't what we are used to. It's not like the ghosts of murder house, or any ghost really. He can't choose to be seen or be unseen. He can't interact at all."

"Do you think Tate would have decided to stay?" the hope in Constance's voice was overwhelming.

"If that girl next door wasn't in the picture, I'd say no. But their young love make me believe he would if given the chance."

* * *

><p>"Violet! Violet come down here right now!"<p>

"What the fuck do you want, asshole?" screamed Violet from her room.

What could her father possibly want now? Violet just could't believe he was already drunk by two in the afternoon. Pathetic piece of shit.

"I SAID COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW! DON'T MAKE ME ASK AGAIN OR I WILL COME UP THERE AND FORCE YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!"

"FUCK YOU, YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO ANYTHING."

She heard angry footsteps stomping towards the stairs and Violet sprang up and locked her door. Seconds later Ben started banging on it. He shoved it, attempting and failing in his drunken stupor. Violet didn't get it, didn't he have patients now? Or was he just always lying about working? Great. Another similarity discovered.

"VIOLET!" Ben screamed against the door "YOU HAVEN'T BEEN GOING TO SCHOOL, AND I'M SICK OF ASKING NICELY. YOU'RE FUCKING EXPELLED VIOLET, I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY."

With that, Ben kicked the door as hard as he can, and Violet heard his footsteps receding. She ground her teeth, and sat on her bed. Of course she wasn't surprised that she'd been expelled. It's actually what she wanted. Now she had to reason to ever leave this house. To never leave him.

She felt the house creak underneath her, as if it was hungry and wanted to feast on her.

* * *

><p>Tate wanted to kill Ben. If there was any other reason to be able to interact besides being with Violet, it was fucking killing Ben Harmon. How dare he threaten his precious flower? Oh, if he would have done that before he'd moved on…Tate clenched his hands, watching Ben stumble into his study, continuing to drink the bottle of Jack Daniels. Tate could feel the hatred building up inside him, he could feel the heat surging through him. This is not what he thought being passed on would feel like. In fact, he thought it would be peaceful, This was anything but peaceful. This was exhausting, feeling all the things he felt all the time. The anger bubbled over, and when he felt like it was too much he picked up glass vase at the corner of his study and threw it at Ben.<p>

* * *

><p><em>AN- Yay, second chapter over! I love writing Violate :] makes me happy. By the way, you all find out next chapter what exactly is making Tate so inconsistent with being able to interact with humans. read and review! -Bryndis_


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